


Sincerely

by by_the_bi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 'cause otherwise I wouldn't write them, Alternate Universe, Angst, Art Student!Clarke, F/F, I haven't planned this out but here goes, M/M, because I don't want to lose the beautiful way she speaks even in an au, heartbroken!lexa, i'm bitter, poet!lexa, s1/2 bellamy and jasper, since we all know the show won't, v gay, writing my babies happy and as they should be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9323213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/by_the_bi/pseuds/by_the_bi
Summary: At first, it was just one. One, she could handle. And when nothing came for a while, Clarke hoped – however doubtfully – that that would be it. But now, she stands over a pile of letters, all heartbroken and sorrowful and somehow full of love at the same time, none of them addressed to her.Or: AU in which Clarke moves into a new apartment and begins receiving letters meant for the previous tenant.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So this is just a small prologue to ease into the story, and I'll probably update v soon (please don't quote me on that). This is also my first story on ao3, so I'm still getting the hang of things, but we'll see how that works out. Anyway, enjoy - it's really short, but I found it an apt way to start things off, so without further ado (stalling)...

“A child said it, and it seemed true:

“Things that are lost are all equal.”

But it isn’t true. If I lost you,

The air wouldn’t move, nor the tree grow.

Someone would pull the weed, my flower.

The quiet wouldn’t be yours. If I lost you,

I’d have to ask the grass to let me sleep.”

            _-Footprint on Your Heart, Gary Lenhart_

 

I saw this and thought of you. I shouldn’t, I know, I know and tell myself this every time. But I can’t seem to help it, and suddenly every memory of you – rosy cheeks and warm hands and delicate smiles – comes rushing back to me in a way that is as lovely as it is painful.

Stay away, I remind in these moments, stay away and forget. But forgetting is as elusive as you, my dear, and my legs ache from chasing things that do not want me. Still, every poem seems to bear your name and I fear them now, ironic though it may be.

I do not write this to hurt you, that I must make clear. It’s just… How to explain? I feel compelled, as if writing this out is the only way to ease the ache, dull the sharpness of your nails still firmly embedded in my chest...

Don’t worry, I expect nothing from you; I would be an idiot (well…) to have such false hope. You’ve made yourself clear, and I too shall do my best to respect that. But please, love, just grant me this small reprieve – burn the letters, shred them to bits, don’t even open them at all (surely you still recognise my handwriting) – just do not curse me too much for loving you still.

Sincerely, L

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that wasn't awful lmao. I'd be grateful for anyone who leaves a comment, maybe telling me what they thought or their ideas for where the story could go/what they're wanting to see (which I'm perfectly open to and would consider!)  
> Thanks for reading! (my notes are probably longer than this chapter fml)


	2. Laying the Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carpets and builders and ravens, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry... I had the flu for like a week, so I only just got a chance to finish this and stuff. Not my best work, but I wanted to focus on setting the scene (literally), and I'm also really bad at writing dialogue as you will probably realise. Heads up: I write like stream-of-consciousness-esque (kinda) so I don't plan beforehand and just write, so it might take a few chapters for things to really settle(?) in.  
> Anyway, that's all for my 'Disclaimer! I'm kinda bad at this' this chapter. See ya in the end notes, if you stick around that long.

There weren’t any carpets.

This was the first thing Clarke realised upon stepping inside her new apartment. Not that the living room was smaller than her bedroom back home, nor that a thin curtain was all that separated it from the kitchen, and not even that the walls were all different colours (as if someone has begun to redecorate and then, for whatever reason, given up halfway through).

No, what struck her most about the cramped, mismatched interior were the planks of wood beneath her feet. _This_ was most definitely going to be a problem.

As an art student – which she was absolutely never going to get tired of saying, well, until she could replace it with ‘artist’ at least – Clarke certainly appreciated the Tumblr-esque aesthetic of student living. She had fairy lights amid her boxes of books and clothes, and was fully prepared to sleep on a mattress on the floor for the next few years, but the idea of living without plush heaven between her toes was… almost _painful_.

Her realtor – a slightly sour woman named Joanne, with a tight bun and bland voice – hadn't told her much about the previous tenant, which she supposed was to be expected. All she knew was that there was a woman who had moved abruptly, left little and surely wouldn’t be returning. There had been no mention of carpets.

Which left Clarke stuck, alternating between viewing this woman (whom she’d long forgotten the name of) as some sort of barbaric being who probably wore shoes inside and tracked dirt all around her carpet-less home, for whom comfort was of little concern, or as a wicked heathen who has had actively pried up all the damn carpeting and taken it with her.

Either way, Clarke was livid.

 

* * *

 

The delivery men (Alberto and Dave) came and went with surprising haste: stopping only once, briefly, for a cup of coffee and camomile tea, respectively. This was quietly admired and much appreciated.

The whole thing, bringing up the boxes and even helping to unpack some of them, took around half an hour, and gave Clarke plenty time to explore the rest of her new accommodation.

Being low-maintenance (flooring aside) was arguably Clarke's best trait, so she took much pride in ignoring the general lack of space and light. She wasn't bothered much by the dust that seemed to have accumulated everywhere it possibly could, that there weren't any light bulbs to be found in the whole house, that the bedroom was more of a converted closet than anything (and didn't have a closet itself) or even that the bathroom lacked a shower. _I prefer baths anyway,_ she told herself and moved on.

Overall, despite the patchy, peeling wallpaper in most rooms and sloppily-applied paint in the rest, it wasn't _awful_ to look at. Or live in. Plus, she'd already put down the deposit, and where else was she gonna find roommate-less housing for this price in a city this big?

So, it would do and she would be grateful, maybe even a bit inspired...

But art would have to wait, as much as it pained her to realise. Raven was already on her way over, having moved to the city a few months prior with her girlfriend, preparing for the first year of her engineering degree.

Sighing, Clarke put aside thoughts of charcoal and acrylic, as well as all the unpacking she still had to do, and instead focused on locating the boxes of things she needed most urgently - pillows, blankets, really anything that would make the stiff floorboards tolerable until she could buy some furniture to sit on. Which, it seemed, wouldn't be for a few days at least, until she got her final paycheck from the gallery she'd worked at all summer.

She'd blown the rest of her savings on this place, as well as all the moving and travel costs, and was left with barely enough to eat this week. If she rationed.

She wouldn't ration.

 

* * *

 

 

The thing about Raven Reyes - apart from that she was beautiful, intelligent and made incredible pancakes - was that she was very good at adapting.

It didn't matter where she went, or with whom, the girl could feel at home anywhere (though, this did usually lead to her falling asleep there - a bus station, Mcdonalds and park bench being the most notable of her lethargic adventures). So, Clarke wasn't the least bit surprised when, upon opening her door to frantic knocking, Raven rushed in and, almost immediately, lay sprawled over the assortment of blankets Clarke had so diligently laid out.

"Good to see you too, Reyes. Please, make yourself at home!"

The brunette rolled her eyes, drawling, "su casa es mi casa, princess," and adjusting herself so that she was at least _touching_ all of the pillows. 

 _Like marking her territory_ , Clarke couldn't help but think. _Why buy a dog when you can have a Raven instead?_

"You're late," Clarke muttered, joining her on what was left of the pile.

"You're surprised? Anyway, I assumed you'd be busy, I dunno, _unpacking_... Clarke, you are aware that things can come out of boxes as well as go into them, righ- _Ow!"_

"God, I ask you to come over, see my _first_ apartment, and all you do is set me chores. Might as well have invited my mother."

Raven visibly perked up at that, twirling a lock of thick hair around a slender finger. "Speaking of, how is darling Abby? You know she's a MILF, right?" Clarke barely resisted hitting her again. "You know it's true."

"I know you've been telling me that every day since 5th grade. I know I'm still mildly disturbed you even knew what that _meant_ in 5th grade."

Raven laughed then, a real laugh, and Clarke was almost surprised by the nostalgia she felt. It was strange - this was once a laugh she'd hear every day, yet it had been months since she'd last... Just as Raven adjusted to the environment around her, it seemed people also adjusted to _her,_ caught in a vice of warmth and understanding.

Though, a vice nonetheless, Clarke was reminded as a strong grip suddenly encased her arm.

"Oh! I completely forgot to tell you. How stupid is that? How could I even manage that, _God_ , I am never gonna survive college with a mind like this," Raven spluttered, tone somehow calm as the words jumbled out of her. "Fuck! Anya would kick my ass if I went home without telling you, and damn my baby's strong, like this one time-"

"Raven. I can hear about your inhumanely perfect future-wife another time. Now, you were _saying_..?"

"Alright, alright! But... you have to, like, not freak out. I'm aware that's not something you're used to even attempting, but do it for me, yeah?"

This time it was Clarke who rolled here eyes, nodding nonetheless. "Fine. For you. Now hurry up and tell me, before I make you."

"Pfft, as if you could," the brunette fired back, but there was a hint of anxiety underlying her words now, one Clarke didn't miss. "Yeah, so it ain't a big deal, not really... but, ya know what Anya's like - worrying over every tiny, little, _slightly-life-altering_ thing..." Her words cut off, like she didn't know how to continue, and Clarke waited quietly, as though every fear she'd ever had wasn't racing through her mind.

_My mother's dead. My mother's dead and she hates me. I never got into college, what was I thinking? Of course they wouldn't want me, it was all a mistake, a huge mistake. Octavia never forgave me and has been plotting her vengeance this whole time. Oh God, Octavia killed my mother and falsified my acceptance letter and-_

"Bellamy's here. As in, the city, and kinda your college too. He's studying theater performance and he's here, now please tell me your silence is mild surprise and you've not actually gone into a catatonic state. Shit. Fuck, I should've read the pamphlets Anya gave me, why do I never listen..."

But Clarke didn't hear the rest of Raven's melodramatic spiel, as relief, then complete and utter panic, swept through her body.

It was with gratitude she embraced the black nothingness that came next.

 

* * *

 

 

 _"-no I'm being 100% fucking serious right now, babe. Don't laugh, what if she's dead?! Well, yeah she does have a pulse... Yeah, yeah, I_ think _she's breathing, but I'm not medically trained, Anya... Hey, stop laughing, stop it! How could she fucking faint, oh my God, if she's not dead I'm gonna kill her..._ _But, anyway yeah, please pick me up. Thanks. Bring a shock blanket, as well- no, not for her! For me. Me, Raven, in shock. Can you believe-"_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you really hate this please lmk. I've read and reread it so many times I can't even tell if it's good anymore tbh. As always,   
> feel free to give your honest opinions, criticisms and ideas (they're probably better than mine).   
> Also, specific query for you guys - anywhere you want this set? I'm not American but it made sense to have it set in a Big City™, but I didn't wanna be generic and just go for New York, ya know? So, if you have anywhere you'd like this to be set, please tell me! Oh, and of course, thanks for reading :)


	3. She

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letter numero uno. Warning: sad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vpg3gtwepSs

"And I'll be okay

Admiring from afar

'Cause even when she's next to me

We could not be more far apart

'Cause she tastes like birthday cake and storytime and fall

But to her

I taste of nothing at all"

\- _She, Dodie Clark_

 

I do not know what to call you anymore.

Mostly when my mother rings, inquiring after you. She doesn't know, of course, because I don't know how to do that either - tell people that we are no longer. So, I bite my tongue and take a deep breath, say "she's fine," avoid using any other words if possible. She still refers to you as 'girlfriend' and that may be true, but not in relation to me and that realisation _stings,_ it truly does.

Pain, I have gotten used to. Your absence? Not quite.

It is a work in progress, like much of my life since you left. Not to sound accusatory, really, it is just the bitter truth. I no longer write (well, apart from these letters) and most people have stopped calling. Those who did not are now unable to, numbers perhaps eternally blocked. There are two contacts now in my phone - dear ole' mom, you.

This song, the one whose lyrics I've attached in a scribbled scrawl, was playing quite loudly in a mall the other day. Of course, I was stricken immediately and had to all but drag myself back to the car, look up what I could remember, play it on repeat for an hour as I cried. I was likely seen: it was broad daylight and busy. I couldn't have cared.

As such, I've decided against leaving the house. There are just too many assaulting songs.

I hope you're well.

All my love, L

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's hoping two updates in a half hour makes up for a week of nothing.


End file.
